Beckoning
by Pangur Ban
Summary: Sydney and Angelo have a little chat


Beckoning

by Pangur Bàn

Rating: G   

Spoilers : I don't think so...

Summary: Sydney and Angelo have a little chat.  __

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  Please do not archive without author's permission.****

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Angelo pressed his face to the sheet metal, feeling the heat leaving his cheek for the coolness of the ventilation duct surface.  His breathing slowly returned to normal after the exertion of a six-story crawl through the confining spaces of the system.  His eyes narrowed to slits.  He waited comfortably in the duct content to peer through the grillwork into the office below.

The psychiatrist's office was mostly dark, the only faint illumination coming from glow of the computer screen as its screen saver cycled.  It was still early.  The Centre had yet to see its busiest hours of the day, but Angelo knew that Sydney was an early riser.  He waited patiently.

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Sydney pulled the door shut behind him and was halfway to the garage door before he pulled up short.  He debated whether or not to turn around, then shook his head.  Late as he was, he was loath to forget the small package on the kitchen counter for the third day running.  "Zut, alors!" he spoke aloud, rebuking himself as he delved into his overcoat pocket, retrieving his key ring.  He fumbled the proper key for an instant – wasn't it always that way when you were in a hurry? – and let himself back in through the kitchen door.  He snagged the brown paper-wrapped item, tucked it into the depths of the overcoat, and turned to leave.  The kitchen phone rang, as if scolding him.  This time there was no debate – let the damn thing ring.  He tugged the door shut decisively, cringing slightly as the loose pane rattled.  He would have to see to that.

He was opening the door to the car when his cell phone trilled.  Once more, he ignored the summons willfully.  Starting the car, he reached for the stereo controls and triggered the CD player in the trunk.  Piaf cried softly through the speakers as Sydney settled in for the half-hour's drive to the Centre.

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Miss Parker stormed into the Tech room for the third time that morning.  Broots didn't even turn around.  "No, I haven't seen Sydney yet," he preempted her.

"Have you been able to reach him?" she asked testily.

"No answer at home or on his cell," Broots answered with only the slightest undertones of patronization.  He was extraordinarily busy, and resented the constant interruption.  

"I want you to keep an eye on the security cameras and let me know the instant – the instant, do you hear me? – he gets in.  And try his cell phone again."

Broots sighed, but didn't dare contradict his boss.  "Yes, Miss Parker."  What was he, Syd's secretary?  He punched the speakerphone button, and hit redial.  The tones blipped off in rapid succession, and he waited until the recorded voice began its apology for the call not being completed.  Stabbing at the disconnect button, he shook his head.  "Still no answer," he tossed over his shoulder.  

Miss Parker exhaled her displeasure through her nose and spun on her heel to leave.  

"Wait!  There he is!"  Broots indicated one of his monitor screens, cycling through the security camera images.  "Just pulling up."  

Parker headed off for the lobby.  Broots didn't even bother with a cynical "Don't mention it."  He turned his attention back to his work, praying that his boss would leave him alone for a few hours.

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"Hold it right there, Freud!"

Sydney sighed mentally.  His demeanor betrayed nothing, but inside he flinched as her heels beat a staccato in his direction. Turning calmly, he waited for what was sure to be only the first of several demands of the morning.

"So.  You've developed a sudden aversion to phones, I take it?"  Miss Parker's face was inches from his own, and while he didn't exactly recoil, he couldn't help leaning back slightly.

"I must have forgotten to turn my phone on this morning.  Did you need me for something?"

Parker eyed him curiously.  "What's been up with you lately?  You've been coming in at the same time for years.  I could set my watch by you.  Now, for the last couple of weeks, you're either in at the crack of dawn, locked in your office, or…" she checked her wrist, "…nearly an hour late.  Care to explain yourself?"

Sydney grunted.  "I hadn't realized I'd become that predictable," he skirted the question with a smile.  "What can I do for you?"

She looked at him closely for a moment, then shook her head.  "My father wants us in his office in fifteen minutes.  We need to go over the information from Jarod's latest pretend before we give him our report.  Come on."  She turned, expecting him to follow.

"I'll join you in a moment.  Just let me hang up my coat…"

"NOW, Syd," she tossed over her shoulder.  This time he did sigh, and followed her resignedly.

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Nearly an hour later, Sydney dropped his briefcase and package on his desk.  Hanging his overcoat on the stand near the door, he indulged in a quick glance up and down the corridor before shutting his office door firmly.  He had a sudden urge to lock it, an action most atypical in his routine.  

Angelo picked up his head.  He watched as the doctor moved across the room to his desk, the grillwork cutting the scene into mosaic.  Sydney settled into his chair, pulling open a drawer by his left knee, retrieving several files.  Angelo could tell by his manner that the psychiatrist would not relax into his work anytime soon.  He smiled to himself and began to reach for the grill.

The door burst inward with no warning.  Angelo pulled his hand back, his eyes narrowing to slits as he retreated a few inches.  Sydney looked up at the intrusion.  "What is it now?" he asked with a distinct edge to his tone.

Parker blinked in surprise.  She stood still, watching him closely for a moment.  Finally, she turned and closed the door softly.  Crossing the room, she seated herself in a chair opposite the man who had always treated her like a father.  Her tone was one of quiet concern as she crossed her legs.

"Syd, what's the matter?  You haven't been yourself lately.  What's wrong?"

The older man closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.  His voice softened as he recognized her concern.  "Nothing, Parker.  Nothing's wrong.  I'm sorry if I've seemed a bit – preoccupied, as of late."

"Come on, Syd.  Have I said something, or done anything…"

He cut her off with a gentle shake of his head.  "You haven't done anything.  Really, I'm fine."  He rose from his seat and stretched his long frame.  "I suppose I haven't been getting enough sleep, or exercise, or something."

Parker stood and moved around the desk.  "What's been going on, Syd?  I know there's something up.  You've been distracted, and unless I'm mistaken, have declined to meet me for lunch or dinner at least three times in the last couple of weeks.  You're not usually that reluctant to keep me company," she smiled.

He couldn't help but return the smile.  "Have I really?  I hadn't noticed.  Well, we'll have to remedy that right away."

"Tonight, then?"

"Actually, I can't…" he began.

"There you go again!  Come on, Sydney, tell me.  What is it?"  Her eyes held his, waiting for an answer.  She didn't have to wait long.

"Parker, sit down."  He took her arm and escorted her to his own high-backed leather chair.  Perching on the corner of his desk, he folded his hands in front of himself, leaning toward her slightly.

She watched his face closely, letting him tell her at his own pace.  He chuckled.  "I should have known better than to expect you not to pick up on this."  The connection they shared went beyond words. She would be tuned in to his distraction on a level that others could not feel.  It was only her respect for his sense of privacy that had kept her at a distance for this long.  

"I've been busy for the last couple of weeks with a new – project," he said.  Her eyebrows arched in curiosity.  

"What kind of project?" she asked.

In spite of the fact that no one was around, he lowered his voice.  "I've been working with… Angelo," he said.

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Angelo's eyes widened in surprise.  He had not anticipated the daughter's unexpected arrival, which was disquieting in itself.  Now, to have his visits with Sydney disclosed so abruptly…  The young man was unsure of what to do.  His instinct to retreat was almost overwhelming, but the past weeks spent in quiet solitude with the psychiatrist had instilled in him a sense of tentative trust.  This alone kept him from silently withdrawing from the scenario unfolding below.  He was stone-still, barely breathing, his keen gaze riveted on the pair speaking quietly.

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Miss Parker regarded Sydney with amusement.  "Angelo?  What have you two been doing, exchanging recipes?"

"Parker, please," her old friend said patiently.

"Sorry, Syd, it's just that I can't quite see him lying on your couch, discussing his dreams."

"I know.  Angelo has been extremely… shall we say, selective with his words.  But we both know that his modes of communication reach beyond speech.  He's certainly demonstrated uncanny ability to pick up on emotions and information outside of most peoples' perception."

"That's putting it mildly," she said to the ceiling.

"A few weeks ago, I came in early and found him in my office.  It was as if he were waiting for me, like I was late for an appointment with him.  He didn't say much, but stayed for a few minutes, just watching me put a few things in order.  I stepped into the bathroom, and when I returned, he had left.  Over the next several days, he came to see me a number of times.  Each time he stayed a few minutes, then left."

"Just watching you?"

"At first, yes.  Slowly, though, we started talking.  Soon, he was sitting down, willing to stay a little longer each time, to talk a little more."

"What do you talk about?"

Sydney hesitated.  "I really can't tell you that.  I believe that he is beginning to feel safe here, and I won't violate that trust.  But Parker, I need more time with him – free from interruptions.  I think that he is far more capable of conversing than we have seen in the past, and I would like to give him the chance to develop that."

Miss Parker nodded slowly.  "Okay, Syd.  I can't make you any guarantees, but I'll make sure you have as much private time in here as I can spare you.  God knows, I'd love to know what goes on in that mind of his.  Just make sure you keep a low profile.  If Raines or my father catches wind of this…"

The doctor nodded his agreement.  "I know.  And thank you, Parker."

"Don't mention it… literally.  I'm assuming Angelo won't be saying anything about it, either," she said wryly as she rose.

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Sydney passed both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes, as the door closed behind Miss Parker.  Rising from his perch on the corner of his desk, he turned and was surprised to see a figure standing across the room.

"Angelo!  You startled me.  I didn't hear you come in," he said with a smile.

The younger man made no move.  Sydney cocked his head at the lack of response.  

"Would you like to sit down?"  Only Angelo's eyes, following Sydney as he moved toward the leather sofa, indicated that the empath was aware of his surroundings.  Angelo made no effort to take his accustomed chair.

Sydney looked at his companion carefully.  "Angelo?  How are you today?"  In the silence that followed, the psychiatrist suddenly intuited what had happened.

"You know," Sydney said almost casually, "I was just talking about you."  Aha!  The slightest of reactions, but Sydney caught the brief glance toward the door.  He continued.

"Miss Parker was here, just before you came.  I asked her if I could get a little more time freed up, so that you and I could spend a little more time together.  I hope that's all right with you."  He waited to see what kind of response he might get to this.  

"Knows."  The single word a quiet accusation, delivered so softly that Sydney might have missed it had he not been listening closely.    

"Miss Parker knows that you and I have been meeting, yes," he said gently.  "She doesn't know what we talk about.  Whatever we say here is private.  I won't tell her, or anyone else, unless you tell me to do so.  That's a promise, Angelo."

Angelo scoured the older man, searching for any hint of deception.  Sydney sat calmly under the scrutiny, accepting the need for it in order that the delicate balance of trust be maintained.

At last, Angelo relaxed into a lopsided smile.  Sydney watched him as he moved like a cat around the room, grateful that the balance had been kept.  

"That package on the desk is for you, by the way."

Angelo looked over at Sydney in surprise, then to the small parcel wrapped in brown paper.  He looked back to the doctor, his eyes dropping and his lips twisting into a shy, small smile.  

Sydney rose and moved lightly to the young man's side.  Reaching across the desk, he retrieved the package and put it in Angelo's hands.  "I thought you might like this."

Angelo carefully pulled the paper back to reveal a ceramic figurine of a cat.  "I remembered our conversation last week," the doctor continued while watching Angelo's reaction.  A few days earlier, Angelo had told, in his halting fashion, of having years ago found a cat that had obviously escaped from the Centre's animal lab.  Sydney suspected that although the young man hadn't said as much, the cat had meant a great deal to him in his lonely life within the confines of the Centre.  Watching him now, Sydney felt certain of it.

The empath was obviously delighted with the little figure.  He held it up for closer inspection.  It was white, gaily painted with delft blue flowers.  One paw was raised, as if in greeting.  He turned it over in his hands, examining it from all angles.  Angelo falteringly raised one hand to his cheek, his fingers curled slightly, imitating the pose of the figurine.  Sydney smiled at the sight.

"It's called 'Maneki Neko' – the beckoning cat.  There's a story about it, if you're curious."

Angelo looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, nodded eagerly.  Sydney moved casually back to the sofa as he began the story of the poor Japanese monk's cat.  Enthralled, the younger man followed, eyes on his treasure, ears on the tale, settling on the opposite end of the leather bench.  

When Sydney had concluded, Angelo looked back and forth from the cat to his friend.  "Waving," he said.  Angelo rose and walked to the shelves that held a large number of books along with a few miscellaneous objects.  Occupying a shelf by itself, a simple low ceramic planter held an exquisite bonsai, quite old and lovingly cared for.  Angelo placed the cat at an angle to it, almost as if it were contemplating the miniature tree.  Stepping back, he smiled at his work.

Sydney was surprised at the effect the little scene created.  "You're certainly welcome to keep it here, if you like, Angelo.  It's yours to do with as you please."  

"Welcome here," Angelo replied.  Sydney recognized that these words carried a great deal of meaning for the man who used them so sparingly.  His voice was soft as he returned them.

"Yes, Angelo.  Welcome here."

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End file.
